


So Far From Seeing Home

by kylermalloy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blind Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e22 Twilight of the Apprentice Part 2, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, It's about the tenderness, These two are my babies, and i just need them to be soft with each other, blind!kanan, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylermalloy/pseuds/kylermalloy
Summary: The medics had done all they could to save his eyes. (It was a miracle the burns didn’t go deeper, they said. A miracle there was no damage to the skull. A miracle. You should be grateful.)But in the end, they’d only been able to confirm what he’d feared ever since red had overtaken his vision, burning worse than any blaster bolt: Kanan would never see again.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	So Far From Seeing Home

The medbay smelled too clean.

It wasn’t a bad smell. Not harsh or sharp, not like too many chemicals at once, not like death or decay—just…clean. Stale and hollow and lifeless. Too much like the Imperial ships. The prisons.

Atollon smelled earthy. Warm and tangy. Kanan had never found the smell pleasant, but at least it smelled  _ real _ . He missed the smell of outside. Inside the base, surrounded by such sterile air, there was nothing concrete to ground himself to.

He needed something concrete. Something real.

After all, smells were all he had now. Smells and sounds and textures.

No sight.

The medics had done all they could to save his eyes. (It was a miracle the burns didn’t go deeper, they said. A miracle there was no damage to the skull.  _ A miracle. You should be grateful. _ )

But in the end, they’d only been able to confirm what he’d feared ever since red had overtaken his vision, burning worse than any blaster bolt: Kanan would never see again.

( _ There will be scarring. But in time, the pain will go away. You’re very lucky. Remember that. _ )

_ I’m very lucky, _ Kanan repeated bitterly to himself as he lay on the creaky medbay cot. He clenched a fist around the rough blanket on top of him.  _ Lucky. _

He  _ was _ lucky, he knew. And he was grateful. Grateful he still had his head. Grateful Ezra was okay. Grateful they’d been able to escape Malachor and the emperor’s Sith Lord there. (He’d be forever in Ahsoka’s debt. A debt he could never repay.)

But nothing the medics did could take away the sting. The flare of pain every time he blinked on instinct. The fresh horror of waking up, opening his eyes and finding nothing but more darkness.

As a Jedi, such things were to be taken in stride. Kanan imagined any Jedi of the old order would’ve been meditating by now, completely at peace with the loss.

But as one of the only surviving Jedi (possibly the last, now) Kanan wasn’t beholden to find his peace. He was allowed selfish moments. He didn’t have to always remain the picture of serenity. He could send the people he loved away and wallow alone in self-pity.

He’d been wallowing for several days.

He would never see his family again. Never see Hera’s face, never see Sabine’s art again. He would never watch Ezra wield his lightsaber, never be able to applaud or correct his technique.

It was dark, and it would always be dark.

He could remember the sensation from before, from his Jedi training. Being told to close his eyes and use the Force to repel a blaster bolt. He remembered Depa, his Master, tying a cloth around his eyes and ordering him to cross a rocky canyon unscathed.

He remembered growing frustrated after three stubbed toes and ripping the blindfold off childishly. The moment after, drinking in the light and colors he’d been deprived of (even for such a short time) had seemed the most glorious moment in his thirteen years.

What he wouldn’t give for such relief now.

Bandages soaked in bacta covered his eyes like a blindfold. Kanan resisted the urge to rip them off. It wouldn’t help. This time, they weren’t what kept him from seeing. This blindness was permanent.

He’d been glad of that when they’d told Rex what had happened on Malachor, how Ahsoka had given her life to save them. He didn’t think he could look the old man in the eyes—and he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to see the pain, the guilt. The blame.

He blamed himself plenty.

The hours of quiet in the medbay left him copious amounts of time to replay the showdown in the Sith temple. Replay the scene, and imagine how it could have ended differently.

If he hadn’t been hurt, if he’d been able to see. If he’d been able to get the holocron sooner, if he hadn’t needed Ezra’s help. If he could’ve helped Ahsoka duel the masked, monstrous Sith instead of staggering around blindly, holding onto Chopper for support.

No matter how he remembered it, whatever angle he held the memories at, it was his fault they’d lost Ahsoka. His fault that grief now permeated the base, saturated every visitor he had here.

He heaved a sigh that was almost a groan, raising his hands to run through his loose, unkempt hair.

“Let me guess,” a voice rang out in the buzzing quiet. “You’re wallowing. The great Kanan Jarrus. Wallowing.”

He’d know that voice anywhere. His pilot, his constant, his voice of reason. Hera. (His Hera.)

A wave of anguish washed over him every time he realized anew that he would never see her face again.

He could hear her walk toward him, her gait quick and no-nonsense. He could sense her in the Force, as he always could. Feel her calm presence veil his own, casting a faint hush over his hopeless musings. He could even feel the cot shift under her weight as she sat by his side.

But he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t ever meet her eyes, couldn’t be soothed by her smile.

She was right in front of him, and yet he missed her.

“Let me guess,” he mumbled. “You’re here to snap me out of it.”

“Sorry, love,” she replied airily. If you want to stop your moping, you’ll have to do that yourself.”

_ Do it yourself.  _ Her words twisted themselves into a snarl.  _ Do it. You’re more than capable. _

_ Like you should have been able to save Ahsoka. You were more than capable—but you failed. She’s dead because of you. She would be here now, if you hadn’t kriffed things up. _

_ She should be here, not you. You should’ve died instead of her. _

He flinched, clapping both hands over his ears.

His effort was fruitless. The taunts were all in his head.

Hera stiffened at his sudden movement. “Hey.” She laid a hand on his chest. “Kanan.”

He didn’t move. Hera could see the deep furrows in his forehead, a sure sign of the torment roiling inside him.

_ Forget banter, then. _

Hera didn’t have to see his eyes to know he was suffering. He’d done nothing but suffer since his return from Malachor.

Kanan and Ezra—and Chopper, of course—had delivered a fractured, broken account of the events there: some evil temple, three Inquisitors, two Sith, and an explosion that had claimed Ahsoka.

Things hadn’t been the same since.

Ezra had thrown himself into rebel work as his way of coping—he, Sabine, and Zeb were out on a mission right now.

He’d brushed off her attempts to talk— _ busy, Hera. Job to do _ —and while it smarted, he seemed focused and driven. He seemed to be…dealing, at least, with the loss of Ahsoka.

Kanan, though…Ahsoka wasn’t all he’d lost on Malachor. He’d lost something much closer. Something deeply personal. And he wasn’t coping nearly as well.

Hera was plenty familiar with loss. But she had no idea what to do for him here. No idea how to comfort the man she’d flown alongside for years. She’d shared her ship with him, shared a bunk on many, many occasions. He knew her better than anyone, and she trusted him with her life—over and over and forever.

But looking at him lying in the medbay, a broken and wounded shell of a man, wracked with survivor’s guilt yet again, her tongue dried up. Any platitude she could offer him already rang hollow and false in her mind.

Even without his eyes, Kanan would see right through her false confidence.

Her fingers, still on his chest, tightened around his gray undershirt. He always wore that same undershirt to bed on the Ghost.

She opened her mouth, once, twice, to speak, finding nothing to tell him.

Anything she wanted to say would sound selfish.

_ I don’t know how to make it stop hurting. I don’t know how to fix this. You. Us. Any of this. _

_ All I know is I don’t want to lose you, and I feel like I am. _

_ Don’t leave me. I can’t lose anything else. _

Saying it out loud would be asking something of him, which she couldn’t bring herself to do.

She willed him to remember the countless times he’d saved her, the countless times she’d been there for him, the life they’d built together on the Ghost, the family they’d gathered.

His hand crept over hers. Squeezed.

He was clinging, too.

“You’re still here,” he muttered.

Hera laughed, grateful he couldn’t see her eyes fill with tears. “‘Course I am.”

He exhaled—a release of the tension, the tightness built up inside him.

_ That’s it, love. Let it go. I’m here and I’m not leaving. _

“I…” His cheeks darkened. “I need to wash up. Can you get me to the ’fresher?”

Hera perked at the opportunity, a chance for her to do something concrete. “Sure.”

She placed one hand under him, helping him sit up on the cot. Kanan winced and shook his head, no doubt experiencing more motion than he had in days.

His hair was loose, a rare sight, hanging limp and unwashed about his shoulders. (Hera was less inclined than usual to run her fingers through it.) His cheeks were covered in overgrown stubble, the beginnings of a scrubby beard.

His eyes were ensconced in blindfold-like bandages, as they had been ever since he limped off the Phantom, clinging to Ezra.

Kanan lifted his hands to his face. He fumbled for several seconds before Hera realized he was trying, clumsily, to remove his bandages.

She placed her hands gently over his, waiting once again until he’d relaxed under her touch, then guided his hands away. “Here.”

She unwrapped his eyes, slowly and carefully. He sat still and compliant, his breath warming her hands.

Her stomach twinged at his calm, his absolute trust in her.

The bandages slipped off, a little crusty. Hera blinked, taking in the full sight of his wound for the first time.

An angry red line tore across his eyes, across the bridge of his nose. It looked like someone had painted his face with flames, trailing bright burns. Even the whites of his eyes brimmed with red—bloody tears that would never fall.

His eyes, once such a distinct shade of blue, were now clouded and milky. They stared blankly past her, at a spot on the wall opposite him. Unfocused. Unseeing.

It hurt her more than it should have.

This was worse than an ordinary blaster wound— much worse, even, than the nicks Ezra sometimes got from lightsaber training. This scar wouldn’t heal, become invisible. No amount of bacta could erase the force with which the Sith Lord had driven his blade into Kanan’s—

She shuddered.

Kanan’s brows crumpled together. “Don’t lie to me. How bad is it?” His lips twisted as he bit them in anticipation.

The expression made him look piteously young—a small boy awaiting a dreaded punishment. A Jedi apprentice who’d just lost everything he’d ever known. A helpless young man needing reassurance.

Hera lifted one hand to run her fingers over his prickly cheek. His breathing stuttered at her unexpected touch.

His jaw trembled under her fingertips. His skin warmed, flushed, wherever she touched him.

She knit her brow playfully, pretending to contemplate the image before her—before realizing her performance was completely lost on him.

“It—it’s all right. Not too scary.”

Kanan’s brows lifted, again in a heartbreakingly childish manner. “Lucky,” he breathed.

“Not sure I’m a fan of the beard, though,” she mused. She imagined leaning her head on his shoulder, his new whiskers tickling her forehead, her lekku…

“Oh,” he grunted. “Sorry.” A touch of the old sardonic tone crept into his voice. “I don’t know how easy  _ shaving  _ will come after this—”

“Hush, dear.” Hera pressed a quick kiss to his lips. (The beard didn’t feel  _ that _ bad.) “I’ll manage.”

Kanan laughed, with only a touch of bitterness. “Never had a beard before. I last tried to grow one when I was around sixteen. Didn’t manage it.”

Hera’s voice shot warmth through Kanan’s insides. “I think you’ll manage this time.”

Her thumbs stroked gently across his jaw. He could almost picture her expression—almost. The curve of her lips in that knowing smile, the arch of her brows, already fading in his mind’s eye.

_ Kest _ , he wanted to see her.

He raised his hands, reaching. Searching.

She caught his fingers and guided them to where she knew he wanted to go. (She always knew. He never had to tell her. Sometimes she didn’t  _ listen _ to him—but she always  _ knew _ .)

The instant his fingers touched her face, he was home. Just as his return from Malachor hadn’t been complete until he’d stumbled off the Phantom and into her arms.

A sigh of relief escaped him.

_ This  _ was the type of anchor he’d been missing. He knew  _ this _ . He’d spent countless hours in the dark exploring Hera—her face, her hands, her lekku… (He’d made a habit of tracing the patterns on her lekku with one finger. Another facet of his life that now only existed in past tense.)

Her cheeks were streaked with what could only be tears. That she cried for him made him feel a certain hollow sadness, one that was only an echo of another’s suffering. Yet her eyes crinkled in that way they only did when she was happy.

He ran his fingers over her brow, under her eyelid, sweeping away lingering moisture from her tears.

His thumb traced across her lips, memorizing the shape of her thin smile. He explored every tiny dimple, every crease. (Had her cheeks gotten hollower? Was she eating enough? She’d never needed Kanan to take care of her, but that didn’t mean he never wanted to.)

The ferocity with which he clung to her washed over him, drenching him, filling his chest and threatening to drown him.

_ Never leave me. I’m too scared to lose you. _

Of his many insecurities over calling himself a Jedi Knight, this was one Kanan would never admit to anyone. Never in a Force communion, never meditating on it—he’d even been loath to bring it up to Ahsoka, for fear of losing her regard for him as a Jedi. After all, attachments were forbidden.

Not like there was any Jedi Council to cast him out—or indeed any Order to be cast out  _ from _ .

Yet it called into question the fundamental principles of what made someone a Jedi—how could Kanan claim to be one, if he didn’t follow the Code?

_ But how can this be wrong. _

How could Kanan reject this—her—when her mere presence was his anchor? When he found more peace than he ever could in meditation, simply by touching his forehead to hers?

With every kiss she pressed to his palm, she was stitching his blind, broken self back together. One piece at a time.

The tightness in his chest seized up, squeezing a gasp out of him, unbidden and involuntary.

“Shh.” Hera wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him. Gently but fiercely, as was her way. “You’re okay.”

“Can’t see.” His words sounded strangled, even to him. “Can’t  _ see _ .”

“I know. I know.” Her fingers kneaded the back of his neck. “It’s hard.”

“I lost.” He buried his face in her shoulder. The words were muffled, but he knew she could understand. “I lost—I lost and we lost  _ her _ . We lost Ahsoka.”

“No.” Hera’s voice pinched upward, a surefire sign that more tears were coming. “You didn’t lose. Remember? You told Ezra.  _ You lose, you die. You win by surviving. _ You’re still here, love.”

Leave it to Hera to turn his own words against him. Somehow, her absolution left him emptier than if she’d screamed accusations at him.

“Then  _ she _ lost.  _ Because _ of me. She’s gone.”

She pulled back from their embrace, gripping his shoulders firmly. “Kanan, no. She  _ won _ . She stopped Vader. She kept him from chasing you. Finding us here. She did not lose. She gave  _ us _ her victory.”

“But I—”

“Shh.” She placed two fingers over his lips, effectively cutting off his protest. “It’s not your fault.”

_ And there’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise, _ her tone teased him.

“In another life, you’d make a great politician. With that silver tongue of yours.”

“In another life. I’m glad I’m in this one.” She kissed his forehead and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

A sound of disgust escaped her as her fingers touched his hair, which he didn’t have to  _ see  _ to know it was filthy.

“The ’fresher?”

He’d almost forgotten why he’d sat up, taken his bandages off. He could easily sit next to Hera forever. Take in her comforting warmth, breathe in her smell. Use his hands to see her—every part of her…

“Yes,” she agreed.

She stood first, pulling him to his feet and slinging one of his arms over her shoulders to guide him.

His steps weren’t as tiny and timid now as in the beginning. His body was learning to overcome the crippling fear that seized him every time he swung his foot forward, into an unknown space.

Still, having someone with eyes lead his way was…comforting.

Hera broke the silence, punctuated only by their shuffling feet. “Did you know Ezra cut his hair?”

“No.” That was a surprise. (Kanan had half expected him to start tying it back in a ponytail.)

“Short, too. Sabine did it. She could do the same for you.”

Another dig at his unwashed hair, no doubt.

He resisted the urge to poke her side, right in her sensitive spot. “She’s not touching my hair. No one is.”

“Except you. I’m not washing it for you.”

He poked her anyway.

He didn’t need eyes to find the spot that made her squirm and giggle like a child.

Amidst her laughter, he breathed the three words they’d made an unspoken promise to never say.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts - comments feed my SOUL. I'm on [tumblr](https://kylermalloy.tumblr.com/) too, hop over and say hi!


End file.
